Magpie, magpie, all upon your lonely, Have you an omen or an auspice to portend ? Tell me, oh magpie, perched all one and only, What do you impart, my fortune-casting friend ?
Magpies, magpies, twosome in my setting, Have you an omen or an auspice to bestow ? Tell me, oh magpies, the pair of you abetting, What do you impart – am I set for joy or woe ?
Magpies, magpies, thrice upon my vision, Have you an omen or an auspice to enprime ? Tell me, oh magpie, a trio on your mission, What do you impart for my future-coming time ?
Magpies, magpies, four of you here gathered, Have you an omen or an auspice for my mood ? I tell you, oh magpies, I think your signs are blathered, You’ve nothing to impart – you’re too busy finding food.
All aboard for the End of Days, When kingdoms drown and cities blaze. See stars burn out and worlds collide, As the dead shall walk and the damned shall ride ! I’ll see you all at the bitter end, When gods take arms and fates entwine. We’re six-six-six for nil, my friend, Let’s party like it’s ninety-nine ! The long goodbye, the last farewell – I’ll see you all on the Road to Hell !
Fires to the North and fighting to the South, The time has come, the Walrus said, and gently dabbed his mouth. Famine to the West, and plague upon the East – The Quick comingle with the Dead, the Angel with the Beast. Penitents shall weep and moan – Some prayers pleaded, others hurled. We’re all-for-one and all alone, So step right up for the End of the World !
Roll up ! Roll up for Ragnarok ! For hark ! There raps the Reaper’s knock. The hour is nigh, our time is come, I hear the trumpet and the drum. I’ll see you all on Judgement Day, When gods lay bets and futures mix. We’re thirty-coins-per-soul, they say – Keep tuppence back to cross the Styx. We’re three-score-ten before the tomb – I’ll see you all at the Gates to Doom !
Chaos to the left and jokers to the right, The wind of Thor is blowing cold, the Morningstar is bright. Shouting to the front and screaming to the rear – The Saved shall ally with the Sold, the Comrade with the Clear. Penitents shall beg and curse – Some prosaic, some sublime. It’s goodnight to the Universe, And set your clocks for the End of Time !
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still right here – Death, you coward, you failed to appear ! Did you send forth your goblins and demons and wights ? Cos I’ve still got my wits and I’ve still got my lights. So where were the werewolves, the hairy-scare werewolves ? And where were the zombies and spectres and sprites ? Is it really too much to want to believe in Some un-hallows odd on All-Hallow’s Even ?
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still in the clear Death, you blackguard, you just ain’t sincere ! Plague and Pollution, Famine and War Now those are damn scary, and worthy of awe. Cancer and cold snaps and car wrecks are killers, Not witches or vampires – they don’t come near ! Vengeance and greed are the stuff of good thrillers, But I ain’t heard a peep from a banshee all year.
It’s Halloween night, and I’ve nothing to fear – Death, you pussy, you’ve lost all your sneer ! And a rubber spider or pumpkin grin Will scarcely scare me out of my skin. My heart’s barely strumming, So Death, if you’re coming, You’d best get a-frighting to stand any chance – So unleash your devils And skeletal revels – Quit tuning your fiddle, and strike up a dance.
Lookit all you zombies, living lives like you was thinking – But I know you’re just the puppets to the Codebooks in the sky. Lookit all you statues – yeah, you don’t fool me by blinking – Cos I know you’re really dummies – and the suck is, so am I ! Ev’ry single doll of us is following the Script With its plot for ev’ry atom all controlled in all its jazz – Gotta keep ’em tight in line, you can’t have strays or space-time’s ripped, And then how can the Future come to pass like it already has ? Of course, it’s all that Albert’s fault – Him and his flash equation. Had to open up the vault And loose the tachyon invasion – Had to prove, and quite routine, His theory for the time machine. And whoops, he’s sent our free will sinking. Hello zombie. Goodbye thinking.
Now when it comes to sci-fi, I can take a little licence – Like your artificial gravity – we know all that’s all bunk – And beaming-down and warp-speed – well, the concepts have entice-ence – We all so want to so believe, like any cyberpunk. But daddy of them all, be it phone-box or DeLorean, Is scorching up the past-times when they ain’t so dead and gone. Sticking-up two fingers to the know-it-all historian, And making sure our parents got to meet and get it on. But don’t you see the problem here ? The Future is already there – And all we do must all adhere To make it happen right and square. So ev’ry choice is just a lie, We’re ruled by Codebooks in the sky, We’re patsies with our choices stripped, We’re puppetss to the Master Script.
Lookit all we zombies, living lives like we got lives to live, And not some pre-determined plot to parrot as we plod. Lookit all we robots, got our program and executive, To serve the algorithm of our micro-managed god. Ev’ry single slob of us is following the show, With the final season written long before the pilot aired. But we’re still convinced it’s streaming live, and watch it blow-by-blow, As we’re stuffing-in the popcorn – yet we none of us are spared. Of course, it’s all that Albert’s fault – Unless…old Albert’s wrong instead ! And if infact causality, Just like us zombies, is undead… But how can Time and Space apply Without the Codebooks in the sky ? Yet if the Future ain’t our grey-boss – Goodbye zombie, hello chaos.
Who was it brought flood and killed Now all bar eight and two-by-two ? And who was it the plagues fulfilled, And ev’ry firstborn slaughtered through ? And who was it dictated Law With racist hates and petty spites ? And who was it commanding Saul To genocide Amalekites ?
Who was it with love divine Came not with peace but with a sword ? And who was it made Constantine Kill all who prayed to Jove as Lord ? And who was it Indulgence sold, And rent the schismic Church apart ? And who was it sought relic-gold, And clast the icons, smashed the art ?
Who was it turned Papal might Crusading east with zealous cares ? And who was it sent butcher knights To Temple Mount and Friday Prayers ? And who was it built witches’ pyres ? And made that bigot Luther split ? And who was it filled Henry’s ires, And Bloody Mary’s roasting spit ?
Who was it set Cortez loose, And murd’rous-censor Thomas More ? And who was it hid child abuse ? And Cromwell’s terror ? Holy war ? And who roused Torquemada’s will ? And Galileo’s truths deny ? And who keeps Ulster troubled still ? I swear it wasn’t I.
This is my response to Mick Jagger’sSympathy For The Devil, which I think is an absolutely appalling piece of poetry. Does it mean to suggest that the Devil is worthy of sympathy ? If so, why does it have him confess to having his fingers in such ruthless pies ? Does it intend to damn him as an unrepentant sinner ? If so, then boredom-city !
“A senior Iranian cleric says women who wear revealing clothing and behave promiscuously are to blame for earthquakes.”
– Geology Now
It only takes an ankle, Or the merest hint of wrist, And oh, calamities abound ! These wenches shock the very ground ! The seething earth they rankle With each rendezvous and tryst. It only takes a look or pout To make the boiling magma spout.
An angel came into my room One night, and hovered by my bed, With subtle beats of golden wings, And gentle light about his head. And while my shock about my guest Continued, so he spoke to me: “Why, pray, shall you so hate God When all He shows is love for thee ?” “The Lord…?” I stammered once or twice, Then found some voice from who knows where To make reply “I hate him not, The truth is that I do not care.” “Now come,” the angel mocked with jest, “For all your claims of disbelief, Why would you spend so much strong speech On what should matter slight and brief ? If you upon such proof insist As only science can provide, Then, please, we wish you go in peace, And as you go, let us abide.” And as his light began to fade And too his form began to fly, I softly said, perhaps too late: “So I shall you. Shall you so I ?”
And a great stillness then knew me, As a lightness of thought did rock me then. I thought how the Lord had come to me; Alas, it was but lack of oxygen.
Listen, son, you take these wings, And fly ! You fly, because you can ! You fly for all your strength is worth, Until all lands are in your span. And you see all that I can’t see, And never mind what gods may say – You fly on up, towards the sun, And maybe touch his face some day… You fly, and you become a god ! For gods are made by what they know – So you learn what the gods won’t say And you take what the gods won’t show. Just like Prometheus before, And just like Newton yet to come, You are the god the gods most fear Who spreads the word and bangs the drum. They claim the sun will melt your wings – They scoff, until your dreams are heard By star-struck brothers on a beach, And giant leaps beyond the birds. There’s many let their dread of hubris Quench the spark that’s just begun – But others leap with open wings And dare to fly – so fly, my son !
detail from the Hell panel of The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch
Bless You, Dammit !
Save a place for me in Hell Should you get there first. Get the drinks in, anyhow, And coin a joke or two to tell, Dress up in your fine attire, (There’s not much point in skimping now.) Cos soon I’ll hit that lake of fire With a raging thirst.
Save a place for me in Hell Cos I don’t believe – Just like many cohorts swell, Who lived it good and lived it well. I reckon it can’t be so bad, When friends like these are those who dwell. It sure ain’t Heaven, so be glad – And raise a toast to Eve.
Rhyming Couplets 